Achoo!
by MyName'sBooDixon
Summary: Guess who's got a cold, none other than Daryl Dixon... Guess who's takin' care of him, none other than Carol Peletier... Just Caryl fluff for the hell of it. Caryl makes the world go round, y'know...


**AN: Hey, it's my first thing here, I'm real nervous about putting this up, must have read through it everyday this week, sorry for OOC, please excuse this, kind comments appreciated, as always. I'll just hide in the corner while you read...  
****I don't own The Walking Dead... (Unfortunately).  
****love and kisses.  
-Boo.**

The group shuffled out of their cells, with early morning light streaming in between the bars they knew they were safe and had survived to see another day. Daryl stretched a wide yawn escaping as he did so; along with a sneeze, it was unseasonably cold and so he slipped on his poncho.

They were gathered around at a table, Maggie and Glenn were sandwiched close together at the table where everyone munched on their meagre amount of foodstuffs and mush, that's when the second, third, fourth sneeze escaped, and the only sound was the scraping of cutlery on the plate, drawing more attention to Daryl's non-stop sneezing and coughing. A few people even shuffled away.

She placed her hand on his head.  
"He's running a fever." Carol stated, bringing her hand around to his cheek and testing the temperature again. When she pressed her hand to his forehead it felt as if she'd held her hand in front of a fire or heater.  
"It's all this runnin' around in sleeveless gear he does." Carol sighed, a small smile tugging at her lips. Glenn backed up, perhaps in fear of catching Daryl's cold.  
"Is he contagious?" Glenn worriedly asked. Hershel appeared in the doorway.  
"Yes, but don't worry, he'll be fine in a week or so," Hershel waved it off, resting his hand on Daryl' head in a similar fashion as Carol had done prior to his entrance.

Crossbow in hand, he walked out of the small area he slept in.  
"Uh-uh-uh, back to bed, now." Carol ordered, pointing in the direction if the small room he'd just emerged from. He shook his head, his bangs falling in front of his blue eyes.  
"I can still go on the run, right?" A scratchy voiced Daryl wondered, spluttering and coughing between every word. Carol gave him a _'what do you think?'_ look before pointing to his room.

Most of the group was out or busy for the day, suffice to say Daryl felt useless, every time he'd come out of his room he'd be shooed back in by Carol. The worst part was it wasn't even afternoon yet.

He was sprawled out on the bed, he needed to keep warm, but he felt like he was on fire, despite the cold weather. A few coughs escaped and he groaned before clearing his throat, which he could tell was covered in sticky flem, which he occasionally coughed up.  
"Don't hack up a lung, Dixon." Carol hollered before entering the room.  
"Ya real funny there, Peletier" Daryl said, his voice was hoarse from his incessant coughing. Carol sat at the end of the bed, facing Daryl.  
"To help, or not to help?" She pondered.

The liquid sloshed around in the cup, Daryl observed as Carol took a small restaurant style sachet of salt, perhaps from a run or the prison cafeteria, he couldn't be sure. She poured it into the cup and handed it to Daryl who drank it rather than gurgling it, coughing even more.  
"Tastes like piss!" He complained, eliciting giggles from Carol.  
"You're supposed to gargle it, not drink it." She said over a fit of laughter. He looked at her sheepishly and gargled the water instead of drinking it, he said he'd felt better already, not that Carol would ever believe him.

The sheets were wrapped around his legs; he was entangled in the itchy, prison blankets. He remembered talking to Carol, not quite sure what about, and he remembered lying on the bed, one thing he did not quite remember was falling asleep. Upon rolling onto his side, he met eyes with Carol.

"Carol." He said in surprise, not expecting her to be sitting beside him.  
"Daryl." She nodded, beginning to laugh as he sneezed, raking his hands over his face in frustration.  
"What's funny?" Daryl wondered, not so much annoyed as confused as to why she might be laughing so much.  
"The worlds gone to hell, people are rising from the dead, but Daryl Dixon's got a cold." She laughed; it was not as funny to Daryl, who was suffering from the cold.  
"You're a real comedian, know that?" He joked, blowing his nose into his hanky.

Eyes on Daryl's resting form she sighed, that man would not listen. Roaming around when he was told to stay in bed, what an idiot. She giggled to herself, pressing her hand to his forehead, _just one last check, to see he's okay_; she told herself.

Her hand wasn't even rested on his head for one second and he jumped up, sitting up in the bed, eyes wide. He relaxed back when he saw it was just Carol.  
"You're hot." She observed, looking straight at him, he raised his eyebrows.

"What I mean, you have a temperature." She corrected herself, taking a moment to compose herself. Daryl's lips began to curve into a smile.  
"Wanna screw around?" He asked, sarcasm lacing his tone as he quoted the woman before him. Carol shook her head and stifled a laugh, pressing her hand to his head again.

"Daddy, he really is burnin' up." Maggie confirmed what Carol had said.  
"Can everyone stop touchin' ma face?" Daryl growled, uncomfortable from the amount of attention being paid to him.  
"We gotta get this temperature down." Carol thought aloud, observing her limited supplies in the room.

Little droplets of water trickled down his face. He woke up to the little drops of water cooling his skin. That was the third time he'd fallen asleep that day, he was sure of it. Once again, Carol was there, just as she was before. He noticed they were again coated in darkness, just as they were the night before.  
"Carol, go ta bed." Daryl instructed her, sensing her presence.  
"I'll just stay here a little longer." She wearily said, meeting eyes with the man across from her.  
"I ain't worth the time, g'won." He babbled on.  
"You are worth the time." She whispered, not knowing what it meant to him at the time.  
"Thank you, Carol." He thanked her, sincerity in his voice.  
"It's nothin'." Carol shrugged it off, turning light scarlet.  
"It ain't nothin'. No one ever took care o' me like that. Merle, he was in juvie, had a bastard father, mom died when I was a kid." He rabbited on; unaware he was even talking, drifting away into his thoughts. Carol touched his hand, jolting him into the present, much to her surprise and delight, he did not flinch.  
"Daryl. You're welcome." She grinned, closing her eyes.

The two settled into a comfortable silence, a few bunks in other rooms squeaked as they drifted off into pleasant dreams.

**Sorry, again... Please comment and I'll love you forever. **


End file.
